


Richard and Layla One-Shots

by itchyfingers



Series: Richard and Layla [3]
Category: Richard Armitage - Fandom
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, No Plot, PWP, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-14 07:36:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itchyfingers/pseuds/itchyfingers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This takes place after Bars, Batteries, and Beetles and The Morning After - Part One, but before Sweet Layla.</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. The Morning After - Part One

Richard wrapped an arm firmly around Layla’s waist and she felt his lips brush against the small of her back. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

He pulled her back into the bed with no resistance.  His mouth sought out hers and their lips moved together, hot and wet and still needy after a night’s fulfillment. His hands brushed down her sides, tracing the line of her rib cage, the angle of her hips and then back up to her breasts, cupping them in his hands. His mouth traveled across the line of her jaw, leaving a trail of bite marks across the soft skin. He dragged her earlobe between his teeth, scraping the delicate flesh, and then whispered, “Tell me you want me.” His breath was warm against her already fevered flesh.

“Yes,” she breathed out. He nudged up her jaw, exposing the pale column of her neck. He bit and sucked and licked the line of her pulse until he got to her collar where he sank his teeth into the skin. Her moan shivered against the roof of her mouth as she grabbed his shoulders. She felt the muscles flex under her hands and stroked her fingers down the broad planes of his back. She smiled as his back curved under her touch, arching his spine against the path of her fingers. His hands squeezed her breasts again and he bent his mouth to them, first one and then the other, sucking them into his mouth, his tongue swirling circles around them that echoed the ones he had danced around her clit earlier.

Layla arched under the touch, pressing her breasts against his mouth. “Please,” she begged, and he added his teeth to the array of tools he bent to her pleasure. “Richard,” she gasped out as his teeth slid across the taut peak of her breast. He slid his hands under her back and rolled with her, bringing her astride his hips. Their mouths met again, and she bit his bottom lip with no pretense at gentility or gentleness but pure animalistic need. His hands spasmed on her thighs at the aggression and he slipped one hand between her legs, sliding along the damp skin. She bucked helplessly against the touch, digging her nails into his chest, little half-moon markers of her ecstasy written on his body.

He grinned at the pain and pushed harder with his fingers, slipping deeper into her, and dragged his spread fingers against the sides of her clit. The little cry she made as her eyes fell shut and her mouth fell open was pure music and he grabbed a handful of her long red hair and pulled her back down to him, letting her sing into the cathedral of his mouth. He continued with the smooth drag of his hand between her legs, smiling devilishly as she rocked her hips against his hand trying to get him to actually touch her clit rather than the teasing touches to either side. “Please, Richard,” she begged against his mouth, the slick sheen of sweat glistening on her upper lip. She licked the salt from under his bottom lip, his own unique taste rich on her tongue.

He grabbed her hips and lifted her, setting her back several inches and then sliding her back up to where she had been, this time sliding her over his cock so her lips slid around it. His hard shaft rubbed against her, and he groaned as her clit slid over the sensitive skin under the tip of his cock. She felt it too, and pushed herself back up, her hips swiveling in a tight circle that ground them together. He palmed her breasts, squeezing them hard as she moved like a dancer, her clit  _en pointe_  in a perfect pirouette. Her head fell back and her spine bowed as every nerve in her body was pulled tight like she was a marionette at the hands of a puppeteer. She could feel his thick cock rubbing against her with every movement, the veins adding friction against her tight little nub.

“Richard,” she gasped out, “please!” She needed something else, something  _more_ , but there was not enough blood to make her brain discover what it was as it pooled hotly between her legs, burning all the oxygen in her lungs to fuel the fire scorching her veins.

He pinched her nipple, scratching his nail against the ruddy tip and that little sweet spark of pain was all it took for her to shatter. He sank his fingers into the fleshy curve of her hips and kept her movement going, not willing to let this creature of flame burn to ashes so quickly. She ground out the spasms, clit and cock sliding together in a _pas de deux_  that left her spiraling, exhausted, collapsing on his chest.

He lifted her face to his for a kiss, a sweet coda before he wrapped his arms around her silken back and rolled her over again, nestling himself between her thighs. He grabbed her hands and pulled them over her head, securing them at their extremity with one hand around her wrists. His slid his hand under her rear and lifted her hips and drove into her with one long hard slow movement, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip in an attempt to keep his raging want under control and not simply pound himself into her.

She linked her ankles behind his back, digging her heels in right above the curve of his buttocks as she pushed her hips up to take him deeper, seat him firmly within her. Her breath was still coming in pants, her breasts heaving as she started to move. “Please, Richard. Please,” she begged, “just let yourself go and take me. Don’t hold back.”

Those words slipped his bonds and he set up a hard, fast tempo. The sound of her wetness enticed him to look down between their bodies and watch the slide in and out and _in again_ of his cock into her velvet heat. The smack of skin against skin was the accompaniment to his grunting gasps for breath. He bent his head to her shoulder, his eyes closed, able to concentrate on nothing but the feel of her body pinned helplessly beneath him and yet wanting not to escape but to surrender even more, welcoming his conquest. He could feel the quiver in her stomach that signaled her impending collapse as their bodies moved against each other and he moaned her name against her throat. “Come with me one more time, Layla.” He bit her softly, his incisors pinpricks of delight against her throat and she came up off the bed the few inches his restraint of her allowed. She contracted helplessly around him and his name shuddering across her chapped lips pulled him with her into that sea of pleasure that they had swam in so many times before.


	2. The Morning After - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place after Bars, Batteries, and Beetles and The Morning After - Part One, but before Sweet Layla.

Layla awoke to find herself alone in the bed. She stretched languorously, working out the stiff muscles from the previous night – and this morning’s – activities. She heard the shower running in the en suite and wondered if Richard would mind some company. A little hot water would go a long way to making her feel human again.

He didn’t look like he’d been awake long. He was standing motionless under the water, letting it cascade over his shoulders, his eyes closed. She knocked on the bathroom door and he looked back over his shoulder at her.

“Mind some company?”

Her question was met with a sleepy smile and he gestured with his head for her to come in.

She stepped into the huge shower, closing the glass door carefully behind her. The tile was cold under her feet until she got closer to him where the water had warmed it to the touch. She pressed herself against his back and sighed contentedly as she looped her arms around his waist. Part of her mind wondered why this felt so natural, the small intimacy of a shared morning shower, resting eye- closed against him in the steamy warmth of the enclosure. She had to remind herself that this little escape from reality was almost over, and the last thing she needed to do was get emotionally attached. His hands settled over hers and held them locked together around his waist, and Layla found it easy to convince herself that he wanted to prolong this moment as well.

She finally reached over and grabbed a bottle of body wash. Squirting a generous amount into her hand, she rubbed her hands together and set to washing his back. She loved watching him stretch as she touched him, the broad planes of muscle rippling as her hands moved, the contented sounds he was making almost drowned out by the shower. She traced circles over the skin with her fingernails and he groaned, letting his head fall forward, arching his shoulders to the front so she had complete access to all of him. “You may look like the big bad wolf, but you’re just a cuddly kitty cat, aren’t you?”

“Am I actually purring?”

She smiled to herself. “Just about.”

The faint red trails of her nails against his skin stood out in the light filtering in through the frosted windows as she turned him around so she could wash his chest. She ran her hands across his chest, the soap sudsing in his chest hair, adding a new texture to her experience. She rubbed her hands across his pectorals, feeling them tighten under her hands, across his shoulders, fingers dipping into the well-defined musculature of his collarbones and down his upper arms. He rested his forearms on her shoulders as she tended to him, leaving kisses on his biceps as she made sure not to miss any of his skin.

Her hands travelled back to his chest and inexorably downward until she wrapped around his cock, half-hard in anticipation. His arms closed around her shoulders, bringing her closer to him and he captured her mouth with his. It wasn’t a struggle though, for she willingly surrendered to the feel of his firm mouth against her gentle one. Even with him stiffening in her palm, she was impressed by the amount of control he had over his body, over the way he kissed her, the way he undid her with the brush of his tongue so gently across her lips. She found herself leaning into him, her free hand braced on his shoulders as she raised herself on her toes to get closer to him. She wanted to bring him to that same level of neediness that she felt prowling along her veins.

She reluctantly pulled away from him, tugging at his bottom lip with her teeth as she went, and sank to her knees in front of him. His hand clenched in her hair. “Layla,” he practically growled, “this night is about you.”

“Yes, but it’s morning now, and besides, I want this. I want your cock in my mouth.”

She felt his fingers spasm in her hair as his chest heaved with a sudden exhalation of breath. His eyes darkened as he looked down at her. She licked her lips and his fingers loosened a few degrees, enough so they were no longer restraining her movement. Her eyes fell to his cock standing proudly erect in front of her and she leaned forward and gently licked the head, getting her first taste of him. It twitched,  _he_  twitched, at the feel of her tongue coming in contact with him for the first time. She lapped at it, dipping her tongue into the slit, swirling around the head, using her hand to pull back the foreskin so she could find the precise location of that sensitive spot on the bottom. She could tell she found it by the different texture on her tongue, but also by the sound he made, a breathy groan like no other sound he had made so far, and the helpless spasm of his hand in her hair.

She ran her tongue along the underside to the base, tracing the vein, mouthing at the shaft. She cupped his testicles in her hand, rolling them in her palm while she slipped one finger to press at the skin behind. Her name caught in his throat as she stroked him while she kissed and licked her way back up his length, feeling him grow even harder under her touch. There was so much of him and Layla felt the time ticking away in her mind. She couldn’t help but watch his expressive face, water dripping from her eyelashes, as she took him into her mouth.

His eyes flicked across her face, looking for some motivation other than desire for her to be doing this, but all he could see was the contented look on her face. He wasn’t sure why he had insisted on this night being just about her, but he couldn’t help but enjoy the way she felt around him, the honeyed simplicity of their joining now. She could have left while he was in the shower, but she had sought him out and insisted on treating him so. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. She was so sweet, both in body and soul.

She watched as his eyes fluttered shut, and then his head fell back. She felt his other hand join the first in her hair as his hips bucked forward uncontrollably. She rested her hands on his thighs, soft hair and firm muscle, under her fingers as she slowly slid her mouth down the shaft, taking him a bit at a time before retreating and then taking more the next pass. He was warm salt and silk on his her tongue. The hot water cascaded down his stomach and over her fingers as she wrapped her hand around the base of his cock, having taken as much of him into her mouth as she could.

She worked him slowly up and down, keeping her tongue firm against the bottom of his shaft as she twisted her hand, bringing her own saliva down to slick the length of his shaft.  His breathing quickened, coming into rhythm with the movement of her mouth. She raked her nails down his thigh, the muscles tense under her hand. He was fighting to stay in control of this, to not give in to her, her mouth and her hand. She wanted him to lose some of that iron grip rigidity, to let her do this for him after all he had done for her. Layla moaned, letting the sound vibrate through his cock, and she felt his hands tighten in her hair. She slid her hand up his leg, holding on to his hip as she swirled her tongue around the head.

She let go of him as she cupped his balls in her hand, rolling them gently in her palm. “You are going to come for me, you know that, right?” There was laughter in her voice that highlighted the sparkle in her eyes.

“Demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea.” She slipped her fingers further back and pressed against him and he bucked helplessly. She laughed delightedly and took him back into her mouth. It wasn’t much longer before his moans were echoing in the shower as he guided her head, both hands buried in her hair.

“Layla, darling,” he groaned.

She could feel the slight throb of his cock, the increasing hardness as she hollowed her cheeks around him. His nails scraped across her scalp as he held her still, a few last desperate thrusts as he came in her mouth. She swallowed what he gave her and sucked at him until he was shaking, making sure she had taken everything she could.

 

She came out of the bedroom, tying off her damp braid, and found him in the kitchen. She noticed that he had picked up her heels from where she had kicked them off the previous night and placed them together next to the entry table. He was wearing jeans and a faded green tee and pouring her a mug of coffee.

“This is starting to become a habit,” she said as she took the cup from him.

“Can I make you some breakfast?”

“I called a cab. It should be here any minute.”

“I would have taken you home.”

“I know, but this seems,” she faltered, not knowing what to say, “less awkward.” Now that she had said the word, it seemed to make the situation awkward. She sipped her coffee, _Damn, he makes good coffee,_ and said, “I want to thank you for everything. It’s been wonderful. Truly.”

“It’s what you deserve. What any man worth you would make sure you receive every day.”

She blushed and looked down at the mug she was holding in both hands. She was saved from having to come up with a reply by the sound of the cab honking outside. She placed the mug on the counter, feeling still at a loss for words. She bent over to put on her heels, not noticing the way Richard’s eyes lingered on the curve of her hips.

Richard left his hand on the doorknob as he watched her. He wanted to ask her to stay, to have breakfast, to send away the cab, but his habitual shyness had chosen now to reassert itself. He opened the door for her after she stood. She kissed him on the cheek, one hand resting on his chest. “Thank you.” She looked as if she wanted to say something else but she didn’t and she left.

He shut the door and fell back against it, cursing his recalcitrant tongue.

She leaned back against the seat in the cab, wondering how any other man was going to live up to the memory,  _just a memory now_ , of him.


	3. Louder

_Inspired by this gif_

 

“Louder.”

His quiet command burned like aged whiskey pooling its molten heat deep in her belly.  His breath feathered against her ear as her cheek rubbed against the crisp cotton pillowcase.

“Richard!” she cried out, her throat aching from how long she had been begging for him to let her come.

She pushed her hips up and back, trying to get him to stop teasing her with just the head of his cock and to just “Fuck me, damnit!”

The sting of his hand smacking her hip hit her brain a second before the sound did, and she cried out, a wordless noise of yearning want.

“You know better than to tell me what to do.” His voice was gentle though the words were a reprimand, just like the way he smoothed his fingers tenderly over the stinging imprint of his hand. He slid his hand back up her stomach to cup her breast again, rolling the hard nipple between finger and thumb. His chest rubbed against her back as he bent to her ear again and said, “Now ask politely.”

“Please, Richard. Please let me come.” She was whining, reduced to an animalistic need to have him fuck her hard, to let her come,  _please, god, just let me_ come! She reached for her clit, willing to take manners into her own hands, but he caught it and positioned it next to her head. He placed his hand over it, curling his fingers into the spaces between hers.

“No, darling.” He raked his teeth along the shell of her ear. “You don’t get to touch.” He pushed his cock deep into her with a sharp thrust of his hips and her head slid against the pillow, her hair a tangled mess around her face, her breath coming in hot steamy pants.  He pulled almost all the way out and she whimpered, not knowing how much more teasing she could stand.

It had started with her on her back, his head buried between her thighs and his tongue deep inside her pussy. He knew exactly how to make her squirm, where to lick, how to press his tongue to her clit to have her on the edge of release, and he would bring her right to that edge, and then back off, letting her relax and lose the razor-sharp pendulum of desire that threatened to slice through all of her restraint with the slightest encouragement. And then he did it again, this time with two fingers inside her and his tongue lazily circling her clit, enough to keep her on the threshold, but not enough to push her over it.

It was only after he had brought her to the brink half a dozen times and then taken her back down that he had flipped her over. He’d spread her legs with his knees and pushed down on the small of her back with one firm hand to cause her bum to arch, leaving her fully on display for him to enjoy. Layla loved this position. She could feel the hair on his thighs brush against her skin, the firm grip of his hands digging into her waist as he held her in place against the pummeling force of his body, the way she could look over her shoulder and watch him lose control in a way that he didn’t when they were face to face. The hair on his chest giving way to the smooth line of his throat, thick and strong as his head was thrown back. Sometimes she could see him biting his bottom lip as he lost control, the steady rhythm of his thrusts giving way to erratic grasping for that final boost he needed, and she would clench around him and smile and make a licking gesture with her tongue and he would come with a groan she could feel vibrate through his cock and into her body.

This time though, he had decided to take his sweet time about it, slipping two fingers back inside her and then rubbing her clit with his thumb. He moved all three fingers together and it felt like he was rubbing her clit from both the inside and the out at the same time.

She helplessly rocked against his hand, completely devoid of any sort of conscious thought beyond  _keep. doing. that._ And he had, right up to the precipice and then he stopped and withdrew his hand and she had started begging, pleading for him to give her release from the sweet torture of his hands and tongue and now his cock.

She almost cried when he pulled out. She was so close and he knew it, god damn him, he _knew_  exactly what he was doing, playing her like a stringed instrument as he plucked and fingered his way about her body to make her sing, but she wanted the grand finale and he wouldn’t play it, instead repeating the crescendo over and over again and she could feel a tear escape and slide down her cheek.

“Please, Richard, please. Please let me come.”

“Oh, there we go. Good girl asking so politely.” His words were hot like melted butter as he murmured in her ear. He pushed back inside her and she sobbed. It felt so good, so right, so perfect to be like this, dripping wet and scalding hot and exquisitely stretched around his cock. The hair on his chest rubbed against her back, and his beard scratched against her neck and the slick sounds of him thrusting into her over and over and deeper and he slid his hand from her breast to her mound and his middle finger sought out her clit and slid against the silken wetness as he moved.

He moved, because she couldn’t. He held her against him, folded himself around her, and the only thing she could see as her cheek rubbed against the pillow with each thrust was his hand curled around her splayed fingers, a microcosm of his body curled around her, holding her, controlling every primal response within her.

And finally, his cock, his glorious throbbing cock moving in her, in and out, and she wanted to beg, faster, harder, but she knew it wouldn’t work. He had her right where he wanted her, strung out and craving release like a junkie needing a high.

“If I tell you not to come, will you be a good girl and do what I tell you?”

His words fucked her mind the way he was fucking her body. She knew she couldn’t deny him, though. She knew she would do just what he asked of her. She always did and he always repaid her obedience ten-fold. But she wanted,  _needed_  to come.

She whined helplessly and nodded her head.

“Say it outloud, darling.” She could feel the smile in his voice and wondered how in the hell he was still this in control of himself.

“Yes.”

He chuckled, low and throaty and the sound wrapped around her neck and squeezed and her breath caught in her throat. She knew what that sound meant even before he spoke again.

“Yes, what, my sweet Layla?” The words slid along her shoulder and he followed them with a hot swipe of his tongue.

“Yes, I’ll be your good girl, Richard.” Seven words and it felt like she had moved mountains to get them out in some semblance of order as his finger still teased at her clit, purposely avoiding any steady rhythm that she might be able to ride to her satisfaction.

“Such a good girl, Layla. Such a  _fucking_ good girl.” His cock shoved deep inside her and then he bucked his hips, shifting her the slightest degree so that she was at just the precise angle he wanted her. He started to fuck her for real, steady resolute thrusts into her wet willing body. It only took seconds for the pressure in her groin to build to the point where she was ready to explode.

“Richard, I’m going to come!”

“No, darling. You said you wouldn’t.”

He barely sounded like he was exerting himself at all and she felt like was ready to shatter into a million tiny shards.  _God I hate you right now!_

_“Please!”_

“Not yet. Be a good girl and hold it.”

She bit the pillow, determined not to beg anymore as he wrought his alchemy, transforming every inch of her body into a burning hot elemental creature of need. She couldn’t control herself. She found herself helplessly moving with his body, against his body; each tickle of his hair, each slide of his tongue, each bite of his teeth, each tenderly juxtaposed kiss of his lips against the side of her throat, each moan of his pleasure as he started to lose his previously absolute grip on his own control, drove her higher, until she felt like Icarus, soaring on wings he had built her with his own hands.

When she finally heard the words she had been begging for, they felt like they were being voiced a thousand miles away. “Come for me, Layla. Come for me, my good girl.”

That was all it took she was so attuned to his body and voice. The hot whispered words against her ear and she instantly shattered, screaming  _Richard!_ as she fell, melting, collapsing, plunging into the ocean of ecstasy that caught her like a strawberry in a glass of champagne, bubbling and fizzing around her, thousands of bubbles caressing every nerve of her body, drawing out the burning flames licking at her body and making her quiver and shake as he continued to ride her.

“Fuck, Layla, you are  _dripping._ ” She had never heard that sound in his voice, marvel and awe combined with a fraying grasp on his own sanity. She could feel her own wetness sluicing down her thighs through the scorching haze of her own shaky grasp on reality and then he she felt him, heard him, lose control, and those last few desperate strokes drove her further into the pillow as he came, scalding hot pulses deep inside her body as her name rang in her ears.


	4. Happy Birthday!

Her chemise wasn’t quite long enough to touch the top of the wide lace border of the black stockings that stopped an inch or two below the curve of her arse, leaving a few inches of pale curving skin to hypnotize him as she did her hair. The strip of skin ebbed and flowed as she moved, widening to where he was almost positive she wasn’t wearing even a thong under the black silk that skimmed across her body.

“Is this supposed to be my birthday celebration or birthday torture?”

A warm breeze blew in through the open French doors, bringing the smell of the vines growing down the hillside that had spent the day soaking up the Italian sun. The sky was starting to purple as the sun set, the last final rays painting their bedroom with the warm orange hues of the peaches they had eaten off of each other the day before.

“Am I torturing you, darling?” She caught his eyes in the mirror and smiled coyly.

Richard shifted against the headboard, a glass of red wine in one hand, lazily stroking his cock with the other. “You know exactly what you are doing, sweetness.” He was still naked from their earlier lovemaking.

Her smile was proof that she did know exactly what she was doing. “You need to get dressed or we’re never going to make our reservation for dinner.”

“I’m not hungry for food.”

“What are you hungry for?”

She watched his reflection in the mirror, the corner of his mouth quirking up, a slightly raised eyebrow. “You know exactly what I’m hungry for.”

“Yes, but you know how much I love your voice.” The deep timbre of his speech always sent shivers skating down her spine.

Richard smiled. “Turn around.”

She held his eyes in the mirror for a second before she raised on her toes and pivoted, coming back down facing him with her feet crossed at the ankles.

He beckoned with a single finger. She raised an eyebrow in challenge. He smiled. “Come here, girl.”

She walked towards him slowly, a little extra sway to her hips. His mouth pursed as he watched her, very aware of every movement she made. She reached the foot of the bed and paused, waiting for his next instruction.

“Are you going to make me give you orders all night?”

“If you like,” she licked her lips, “sir.”

Richard swallowed audibly. He crawled off the bed, keeping his eyes on her as he walked to the closet and paused halfway there to look back at her and say, “Stay.” She looked back over her shoulder at him and stuck her tongue out. Richard raised one eyebrow. “Did you bring those green boots with you?”

Layla shook her head.

“Hmm, pity.” He came back out of the closet with a silver tie hanging from one hand. “I was going to wear this to dinner tonight, but I think I have a much better use for it now.” He set the glass of wine down on the bed post.

“Take off your slip.”

Layla slowly gathered the fabric into her hands until she was holding the hem and then pulled it slowly off and over her head. She dropped the black silk to the floor and smiled as she saw Richard staring at her body as if he had never seen anything so beautiful. He stroked a fingertip along her collarbone, down between her breasts, across the curve of her waist, down the line of auburn curls before slipping it between her folds and brushing it across her clit. The soft touch caused her entire body to quiver in surprise, and her breath stuttered across her lips.

“Hold your hands out.”

Layla did as she was told and watched as he wrapped the tie around her wrists. Even here he took the time to do a full Windsor knot, the rough silk weave slipping against the delicate skin. He wasn’t watching the tie, he was watching her, able to knot the fabric through pure muscle memory, and when Layla looked up, she suddenly couldn’t breathe. She had been transported back to when they were first dating and her desire to kiss him had been so painfully intense that she had been convinced she had developed asthma. His dark lashes were half-lowered and the heat she could see from his partially closed eyes made her skin break out in goosebumps all over. He tightened the knot around her wrists and tugged, making sure she couldn’t slip her hands out easily.

“Are you okay with this?” He had never bound her before.

“Absolutely.” She rested her bound hands on his chest and raised herself on her toes, lifting her face to his for a kiss.

He dipped his index finger in the glass of red wine, and painted the liquid across her bottom lip before he kissed her, the fruity notes and tannins mixing with her own sweet taste in his mouth. He licked the drop from her chin, retracing its trail up the curve under her lip with the tip of his tongue. “It’s an excellent vintage, but it tastes even better on you.”

He dipped his finger in the wine glass again and marked a glistening path down her neck and across her collarbone, before licking it away, biting at the delicate skin hard enough to leave teeth marks behind. He had never lost his desire to mark her, to declare her ‘his’ in the sensitive stationery of her flesh.

Layla loved the feel of his teeth. The gentle sting of his bite sent lightning flashing through her body, making her nipples harden and heat condense between her thighs. She was his, and whether it was a momentary bite mark or the longer-lasting purple kisses he sucked into her skin, it made her feel cherished to know that he was claiming her as his own. He said, “Put your arms up,” and she lifted her arms over her head, only to feel him grab hold of the tie and pull backwards until her hands were in between her shoulder blades, her triceps stretched and her back arched so her breasts were thrusting forward. Richard poured wine down the slope of her breasts and started licking it off. By the time he had reclaimed the liquid, Layla was whimpering, her nipples hard and erect as he sucked on them.

He let go of the tie and she looped her arms around his neck as he kissed her, his mouth flavored with oak and grapes and summer fruit. He walked her backwards as they kissed, his body pressing against hers, the smoothness of her stockinged legs sliding against his thighs as they inched their way towards the cloud of sheets and pillows that were waiting to embrace them. He kissed his way down her neck, past the already fading bites, wondering if she still smelled of peaches despite their time in the sunken tub last night, or if he was imagining the warm ripe scent emanating from her freckled flesh. She tasted of summer breezes and sun-ripened wheat as he licked at her wine-free skin.

The bed slid along the back of her legs and he pushed her with his hips, his hand splayed across her back holding with enough force to slow her descent to the bed as he lowered himself over her. She immediately wrapped her legs around his hips and started grinding against him, her head thrown back as his lips moved against her throat.

“Richard, please!” Her voice was quiet, barely a whisper, but resonated with her need. She still went up in flames at his barest touch, and the sound of his voice when he rang her at work was enough to leave her squirming in her chair. With him pressing her into the bed, letting her luxuriate in the feel of him holding her motionless, she could feel every individual nerve in her body screaming, processing the feel of skin and hair rubbing against her, his cock hard and nestled against her stomach, the wet heat of his tongue as he slowly,  _oh so slowly_ , kissed his way down her body.

He was determined to kiss every freckle on her chest individually and as he left behind hundreds of caresses over her skin, her body lit up, as if each kiss had illuminated the skin it had touched, causing her to glow. She lost track of time as he kissed her, his hands brushing over her body, tantalizing trails of enflamed need being traced over her skin. He pulled her arms above her head and undid the tie.

“I don’t need to bind you, do I?” He rested on his elbows on either side of her head, his fingers combing through the long auburn waves of her hair.

She gazed up at him, lost in the depth of his eyes. She had stared into them for hours, for days probably, but every time she looked in them, she found something new. This time she could see how much he loved her in every fleck of navy that stood out against the crystal blue. “You never need to bind me,” she whispered.

“You are my sweet Layla, aren’t you?” His mouth brushed against her jaw.

“Yes, all yours, Richard.” She wrapped her arms around him, her hands slipping through his hair, loving the slightly longer length that let it curl around her fingers.

He raked his teeth across her earlobe. “You are mine,” he whispered again. He knelt back and slipped a hand under her arse, lifting her hips, and watched as he sheathed himself in her, listening to her long slow groan as she took him deep within herself. Richard was mesmerized by the sight of his cock sliding out of her wetness and then pushing back in. It satisfied him at a primal level that he had thought himself too civilized to possess until he met Layla, and she made him want to claim her in every way possible.

She tightened her legs around him, raking her nails down his back as she pulled him closer. Her hunger for him at least matched his craving for her. “Richard, I love you.”

He rested his forehead against hers. “Say that again.”

She opened her eyes to look at him. “I love you, Richard.”

He kissed her once. “That is the best birthday present,” he whispered against her lips, as he took her face in both hands. Their bodies stilled except for the movement of their mouths, both of them tasting the other like they were a new and exotic dessert that satisfied a craving neither one knew they had. Whispered ‘I love you’s’ dusted over them like powdered sugar. It was lazy and dreamy as they moved together. Neither one of them was in a hurry; all they wanted to do was be together.

“I hated my birthdays before I met you.” He kissed her again, conversation interspersed between touches.

“Why would you hate your birthday?” she asked, trailing kisses down his throat. “Fabulous vacations and amazing sex and presents.”

He chuckled and grabbed her waist, rolling over onto his back and bringing her with him. She ran her hands down his chest, tugging at his chest hair.

“Because until now,” he palmed her breasts, letting their weight fill his hands, “it was just another reminder that I had been alone for another year.” He ran his thumbs over her hard nipples, smiling to himself as her eyes slowly closed and her back arched. Richard never tired of watching how uninhibited her response was to him.

She leaned down and kissed his chin. “You are never going to be alone again.” She rolled her hips, grinding against him. “Never, ever, ever.”

“You are birthday and Christmas in one, sweetness.” He grabbed her hips as he thrust into her and she laughed, grabbing his chest to keep from falling off balance. She dug her nails into his chest and he yelped and rolled her back over, grabbing her hands and pinning them above her head.

She looked up at him again. “Aren’t you ever going to get tired of unwrapping the same present year after year?”

He could see the pain of old scars in her eyes and he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I will never tire of you, Layla.”

“Even when I’m old and wrinkled?”

“I’m already old and wrinkled. Do you love me?”

She tried to pull her hands free but he held them in place. “You are not old and you are not wrinkled and I hate it when you say those things about yourself.” She tightened her legs around him, holding on to him the only way she could. “Please don’t say those things about yourself. It hurts my heart.”

His eyes narrowed as he saw tears in her eyes and he stopped the slow movement of his hips. “It does hurt you, doesn’t it?”

“Of course it does. I love you, and I don’t like it when you say mean things about the person I love.”

His breath caught and he had to swallow around the lump in his throat before he could speak again. “You are the sweetest person I have ever known.”

She tightened around his cock and watched his eyes roll back in his head. “Yes. But I’m also the naughtiest. Now, fuck me until I scream your name.”

He laughed. “Gladly.” Richard let one hand pin both of her wrists above her head and the other hand he placed on her hip as he began to push harder and deeper inside her. She purred like a kitten as he began his strategic attack on her ability to speak anything other than the word Richard. Her legs tightened around his waist, her ankles crossed, heels prodding him onward.

“I love you,” she murmured, her fingers twisting together helplessly as she lifted her hips to meet every one of his thrusts. “I love the way your forehead crinkles, and I love your nose,” she laughed at his skeptical look, “I do! I love its elegant shape and the way it brushes against mine when we kiss.”

He bit her bottom lip and tugged, letting his nose touch hers with a smile.

She moaned at the little splash of pain that danced across her nerves before continuing with her impromptu love song to his body. “I love your back and how it looks in a tight shirt, and you have the most,” she gasped as he hitched up her legs so he was hitting her at a new angle, “delectable bum,” she gasped again as he found that spot, “and I could write an epic poem about the things your thighs do to me,” her voice cracked as his hand moved from her hip to her stomach, and his thumb slipped between her folds to massage her clit. Her breathing was becoming erratic as he stroked it, making it difficult to keep talking,

Layla couldn’t keep her eyes opened, the intensity of his gaze as he watched her lose herself again in his arms too much to handle. He was still in complete control of himself, hard steady claiming thrusts that rocked her to her very core. She gave up the attempt to speak as his hand and his cock moved together to rob her brain of the capacity to do anything other than respond to him, knowing at the most basic level that he was her only way of surviving the storm that was coursing through her body. It felt like she had been struck by lightning, every nerve overloaded with his scent and his touch and the feel of his lips as he kissed and licked and sucked at her throat, and then the thunderclap of his thumbnail flicking at her clit that caused her whole body to convulse.

“Richard,” she cried, knowing he was her shelter and the storm in one, and to survive the one she had to submit to the other.

He let go of her hands and she held on to him desperately. “That’s it, Layla,” he murmured, voice hot and deep against her ear, “you’re going to scream my name like a good girl, aren’t you?”

She nodded, every muscle and tendon in her throat taut with the tension building up in her body, all that energy waiting for one errant spark to set it ablaze.

He snapped his hips forward, driving her against the mattress, an almost punishing pace making her cling to him, nails raking painfully down his back and he groaned, his own head falling back as he fucked her harder, deeper.

“Richard,” she pleaded, needing this, needing him to undo her completely, unmake her at the atomic level and put her back together again as some mythical creature that could contain the pleasure he was pouring into her.

“What do you need, sweet Layla,” he asked, in more control of the maelstrom he had released than she was, but just barely.

“You! Always, you!” She choked out the words, straining towards the ecstasy she knew was waiting for her, so close.

“Open your eyes.”

She panted, almost sobbing, forcing herself to do as she was told. He was watching her, his eyes steady and burning hot, even as the rest of his body continued moving with her, hips and stomachs and legs all touching, grinding, thrusting together.

Layla felt the impact of his gaze like a physical touch, blue eyes that enveloped her, promises of clear skies amid the swirling storm of her body, and she knew they would always be filled with the calm and love and safety she needed.

“I love you, Layla.”

Those words, the touch of his breath as he whispered them to her, the vibration of his deep voice, warmer than aged scotch and richer than melted chocolate, coursed through her, and she couldn’t hold back. She screamed his name, marking his back once more with her nails as she came, clenched around him like rock around Excalibur. He didn’t want to pull the sword from this stone, however, and he groaned her name, deep and echoing, as he thrust deep within her once more and came with her, the room fading into the shadows of dusk as they lay entwined, embedded, in love.

“I think we’re going to miss our reservation,” he finally said, when he had regained his ability to talk.

Layla giggled and kissed his throat, the warm smooth column of flesh that she hadn’t remembered to memorialize earlier. “I didn’t bother making one.”

He tried to look at her, but she was burrowed under his chin. He contented himself with wrapping her hair around his fingers. “You didn’t?”

He felt her shake her head. “I knew we would never make it. I know how you get.”

He chuckled and the sound shook her hand where it rested on his chest. “How  _I_ get? It takes two to tango, darling.”

She laughed and snuggled closer to him.

“What are we going to do for dinner?”

She sighed and stretched slowly, like a cat waking up from a nap. “You hungry?”

He watched her appreciatively, particularly enjoying the way her back arched. “I did work up an appetite.”

“I bought the ingredients for grilled cheese, tomato and pancetta sandwiches at the market this morning, and I’ve got a DVD of  _North by Northwest.”_

He rolled over, trapping her underneath him again. “That sounds like a perfect dinner.”

She smiled up at him. “And there’s chocolate ice cream in the freezer.”

“Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?”

“You can never tell me enough.”


	5. Green Boots and Curls

Richard drops his keys and wallet on the entry table and steps into the living room, only to stop when he sees Layla sitting in his chair. Well, he doesn’t really see Layla, he sees her legs, crossed at the knee, one foot swinging lazily, olive green boots covering her from the pointed toe all the way up to right below her knee. The buckles shone in the lamplight, gleaming with a lazy brilliance. The rest of her was hidden behind a newspaper. When did they start taking the paper?

“You should take your clothes off,” comes from behind the newspaper.

“What was that?” he asks, though he’s already started loosening his tie.

“You heard me.” A corner of the paper lowers and she looks at him. She’s done something with her hair and her normal mess of curls is stick straight and she’s pulled it back into a high tail that drapes over her otherwise bare shoulder. “Take off your clothes,” she enunciates carefully, each syllable sliding off glossy lips and down his spine, making him come to attention, all of his body suddenly alert to the smoke and promise in her voice.

The tie whips out of the collar with a sibilant hiss and falls to the floor. The jacket follows and he sets to work on the buttons of his shirt, watching her watch him. Her eyes are dark and he’s not sure if it’s the shadow of the paper falling across her face or the dark eye makeup or that she’s as turned on as he is, but when he pulls his shirt from his jeans, the susurration of cotton on cotton serves as the bass to her alto sigh. A smile plays across her lips and is chased by the tip of her tongue.

“Keep going.”

The shirt is on the floor and he sits on the dining chair she has placed in the middle of the living room and bends to unlace his brown boots. He pulls them off and his socks as well and then stands to unbuckle his belt. She watches with heavy eyelids as his fingers play over the buckle before he tugs at the tongue and flips out the metal prong. He slowly pulls the leather out of the loops and gathers it in his hands. The final yank is leather on leather and the loud snap splits the air like lightning. Layla shudders like she has been rocked by thunder. She raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow at him and a smirk shapes his lips. She may think she’s in control of this little game, but she is going to be in for a surprise.

He tosses the belt onto the sofa and his hands go to the button on his jeans. He pops it open and slowly undoes the zipper, letting the rasp echo her breathing and his, both growing a little ragged. The insouciant bob of her foot has stilled as she focuses on him undressing and he takes his time working the denim down his legs. She sits back into the shadow as he stands before her in his pants. He’s already half erect and he knows she can see the outline of his cock through the tight cotton knit.

“Touch yourself.”

His brows lift slightly at the order but he palms himself through the fabric, slowly rubbing at his growing cock. She carefully folds the paper and sets it aside without taking her eyes from him and he sees that she is completely naked except for those damnable boots and the diamond on her left hand. He instantly gets harder at the sight of her in his chair, looking so different from his sweet Layla on the surface but with the same smoldering sensuality bubbling up from underneath.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks him as he continues to stroke himself, feeling a few drops of moisture staining the fabric.

“Fucking you,” he answers in complete honesty.

“Of course you are,” she murmurs and slowly unfolds herself from the chair and stands. She walks across the room to him, the click of her heels on hardwood so much slower than his heartbeat, and her hips are hypnotizing to him as they sway gracefully. She stops in front of him and lets her eyes take him in. Her glance sets fire to his skin and he holds his breath, sucking in his stomach as she lingers in her gaze. She traces a fingertip along his collarbone without comment and his eyes fall shut at the delicate touch.

“Take off your pants.”

He pulls them down, letting his cock free, and kicks them off. He’s already erect and she licks her lips as she looks at it and then back up at him.

“Now sit.”

He wonders exactly what she has in mind as he takes his place on the chair she has put it in the center of the room. They have often joked about the spanking boots, but he’s never actually done it. A few smacks to her arse while fucking, yes; actually setting out with the intention of spanking her, no. She picks up his belt from the sofa and then bends over at the waist to pick up his tie from the floor. He watches with a repressed smile; she knows exactly what she’s doing as her sweet firm arse is within arm’s reach, but he resists the fleshy invitation and she stands back up.

“Tie or belt?” she asks, letting each dangle from a hand.

“Pardon?”

“I’m going to tie your hands together behind the chair. Would you prefer me to use belt or tie?”

“Layla,” he says, a note of warning in his voice.

She puts her hands on her hips. “It’s your own fault, you know. If you would just let me do what I want to you without taking control all the time, I wouldn’t have to tie you up.” She sounds exasperated at him.

She is such a sweet dominatrix. He fights back another smile. Does she really think that he needs his hands to make her his own? “The tie.”

She passes behind him and he crosses his wrists to make it easier for her to bind him. She wraps the fabric around his wrists and he hears the soft whisper of the tie sliding against itself. She tightens the binding and then slips a finger between the silk and his skin to make sure it isn’t cutting into his skin. Such a sweet little domme indeed.

She stands and then bends and whispers in his ear, “Just say Lucky Charms if you want to stop.” He turns his head to kiss her but she moves out of his reach and she wags a disapproving finger at him and clucks in disappointment.

“That’s not the way it works, Richard. You get what I give you, not what you take.”

He shifts forward on the chair, almost slouching, and smirks at her. “What are you going to give me, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know yet.” She places her hands on his knees and slowly slides them up his thighs. He watches them advance, the hair tickling against her palms, and he shifts his legs open wider in invitation. She brushes the backs of her fingers against his inner thighs and almost touches him but stops an atom’s width away as she smiles at him. She steps between his legs and pushes her hands into his hair. “I might just play with your hair for a few hours.” She fists one hand in the curls at the back of his head and tugs his head back gently. “What do you think about that?” She’s staring into his eyes, and he licks his lips and her breath hitches in her chest. He can see her feistiness fading into uncertainty and want, and decides to give her this time to play at what she isn’t.

“Whatever you want. You’re in charge.”

Her smile returns. “That’s right, I am,” and he isn’t sure if she’s reminding him or herself, but her hands run through his curls as she kisses him. Their lips crash together as she straddles his legs and plunges her tongue into his mouth. His hands may be tied but his mouth is not restrained and he gives her the hungry ferocity of the beast she thinks she has bound to her bidding. She tugs his lip with her teeth and he sucks her tongue into his mouth and scrapes his teeth along it in return. Her hands are in his hair, the curls a source of endless fascination to her, and she is letting them run through her fingers as he pushes at her jaw with his mouth and makes her head fall backward. He kisses at her throat, soft and then hard, little bites that won’t leave marks that endure long enough to be noticed at work tomorrow. He takes her pulse with his tongue, not nearly fast enough, and licks the hollow at the base of her throat.

She pulls his mouth back to hers and she kisses him before it’s her turn to search for treasure on his body. She licks at the sensitive skin where his ear gives way to his jaw and he moans deep in his throat. She nips and kisses her way down his throat and takes advantage of her freedom to scoot back on his lap and let her hands immigrate from his hair to his chest. She rakes her fingernails against his chest and through the hair covering it, making sure that she scratches against his nipples. A bolt of heat spears straight through him to his cock and he bucks under her.

Her fingers dig into his chest as she steadies herself. “Oooh, you’re being a naughty boy, aren’t you,” she murmurs against his ear. She rubs her breasts against his chest and he can feel her nipples hardening against the scratch of the hair, but then she sucks his earlobe into her mouth and he wants something else in her mouth, but his imagination is spectacularly vivid and she draws forth a rumbling moan that seems to satisfy something within her. She molds her body against his, trapping his cock between their stomachs, and starts to rock against him as she returns to kissing him, but this time it’s sweet and slow. Her hands are back in his hair and he strains against the tie, wanting to hold her against him, to feel her skin, to sink his fingers into the curve of her arse and set the tempo for their movements, and he realizes this is what she means when she says he’s always in control. He voices his frustration, a needy grunt that she considers and then rejects, and continues their kiss.

Their lips move against each other with a timeless intensity that only exists when you are where you most want to be. She licks at the corners of his mouth, and he breathes for her, and she gives him life back again and there is nothing for him but this moment with his sweet angel of a domme who needs him so much that she binds him to her with kisses. He ceases his struggle against the binding and surrenders to her. She continues the slow glide of their bodies against each other and his cock is throbbing from the constant friction, but he does his best to ignore its insistent pleading and focuses just on her lips.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, but her lips are swollen and so are hers and breathing has become a nuisance, and then she raises her hips and using one hand to guide him, begins to sink herself onto his cock. Both of their heads fall back and they both groan at finally receiving the long delayed pleasure of throbbing cock in soaking pussy, and she tightens around him when he’s finally fully seated within her.

She pants several times, her mouth as open as her eyes are shut, before she begins to move over him. She can barely touch the floor with her toes and her hips starts to circle, letting him slide out and then pushing him back in.

“Do I get to make you come now, darling?”

“No, you are going to come in me.” She tightens again and a shudder racks through his body.

“I can still get you off even without my hands, sweetness.” He braces his feet against the legs of the chair and thrusts upward. She loses contact with the floor and her hands tighten in his hair. She stops moving her hips and places a hand over his mouth.

“You are going to come in me, do you understand? That’s what I want; that’s what you’re going to do.”

He nods slowly, surprised at the determination in her voice. She had teased him before about never letting her get him off, but he hadn’t thought she was serious about it.

She removes her hand from his mouth and replaces it with her lips. She starts the slow circle of her hips again and he moves with her, letting her set the pace. She rides him with skill and he’s soon panting, thrusting up into her as she moves. She tightens her pussy around his cock with every rotation and he can feel that throbbing that signals his imminent orgasm. The heat of her has lit the fuse to the dynamite she has piled at his core and he grunts as he presses up into her harder, deeper, faster. She can feel the change in his thrusts and tightens her hands in his hair. “That’s right, Richard, just like that. Come in me,” and her final please is shattered by the feel of him shooting inside her, hot pulses that match the beat of his heart hammering at his chest. He screams her name at the ceiling as she rips his soul from him and marks it as hers.

She’s breathing like she’s run a marathon and she collapses against his chest with a triumphant smile. She kisses his neck and shoulder over and over as he calms, his head still fallen back as he stares at the ceiling for a while he reacquaints himself with his body. She bends and undoes the tie, letting it fall to the floor and he wraps his arms around her, letting his hands trace the topography of her back, the gentle ripple of her vertebra like lowland hills.

The slap of his hand on her arse is echoed by a startled yelp. “You really didn’t think you were going to tie me up and there wouldn’t be consequences, did you, darling?” he whispers in her ear.

She giggles and shakes her head.

“Good,” he purrs and in a moment his hands are around her waist and he lifts and turns her so she’s face down across his lap. He places one hand in between her shoulder blades and lovingly strokes her bum with the other. He traces the red handprint that’s already there before his hand trails down her thigh and brushes against the supple leather. “Should we make these the spanking boots for real, darling? What do you think? Have you been a naughty girl and need a spanking?”

He runs his fingertips up the inside of her thigh and lets the hairs on the back of his knuckles brush against her wetness. She whines and squirms, trying to get him to touch her but he pulls his hand back. “I’m in charge now, sweetness.”

He traces over the fading handprint. “Do you need a spanking, Layla?” Tracing his mark on her feeds some hunger deep within him, but he wouldn’t put another one there without her permission.

“Yes.” She sounds halfway to orgasm already and he remembers she didn’t come with him. He smiles and brings his hand down on the other cheek. She lets out a surprised squeak and then a breathy little gasp of air. “And why do you need a spanking?”

“Because I was naughty.” Another crack of his hand, back to the first cheek.

“Deliciously so.”  Back to the second. Her entire body quivers in response and he strokes the red marks, soothing the sting and spreading the sensation out to the rest of her body. He lets his other hand slide up her spine and grabs her hair and pulls back. “Stand up, sweetness.”

She carefully stands and he guides her so she’s facing away from him while standing between his knees. He lets his hand fall from her hair, admiring the straight pour of hair down her spine. It looks so different like this that it’s a bit startling. “On your hands and knees, darling.” She obeys him and he leans forward in his chair to run his hand over her bum again.

She looks at him over her shoulder and he gives her a slow wink. She smiles and drops her shoulders to the hardwood floor, letting her lower back curve so her rear is even more on display. He stands and kicks the chair clear with a clatter before he kneels behind her, kneeing her legs even further apart. “The problem with naughty girls is,” and he sinks his cock into her with one fierce thrust of his hips and then waits for her cry of surprise to stop echoing before continuing, “spanking just encourages them.” His hands settle on the smallest part of her waist and he holds her in place while he thrusts into her again. “Doesn’t it, darling?”

She scratches her nails against the floor, fruitlessly seeking for something to hold on to. He leans forward, curling against her back, and whispers against her ear. “Doesn’t it, dahlin.”

She moans softly and nods. He bites softly at the juncture of her neck and shoulder as he starts to move steadily within her. She twists her arm behind her so she can hold him to her. Her fingers wrap around his neck and she turns her head to him for a kiss. He claims her mouth and she sobs against him as they kiss, his cock slowly and steadily moving inside her. He’s got one hand braced on the floor by her shoulder and he wraps his other arm around her waist, holding her close against him as they kiss. She slowly falls away from the kiss as her body starts to move more and more in response to his steady thrusting. Her hand drops from his hair as she has to focus on holding herself up and he lifts himself back on to his knees, his hands settling on her waist again.

“Do you like this, Layla?” he asks.

She nods and he smiles. He’s not going to let her off that easy. He grabs that long tail of slick straight hair and pulls back. “I didn’t heah you, dahlin.” She whimpers and he knows how much it turns her on listening to his accent deepen when he’s thinking with his balls instead of his brain.

“Yes, Richard,” she forces out the words after concentrating for a few moments on getting her mouth to work with her brain.

He lets go of her hair and her head falls back down, except it doesn’t fall all the way down. Her spine arches from her skull to her tail, trying to find that perfect angle that promises the glide of his cock against that one perfect spot.“MMhmmm, that’s right,” he murmurs as she watches her and he spreads his hand wide on her spine right above her bum and presses down and she cries out his name because he has aligned her perfectly to his cock. Their bodies are slicked with sweat and he grabs her hair again, entranced by the feel of it in his hand. He pulls it to the side and she turns her head, opening eyes that can barely focus.

“Say my name, Layla.”

“Richard,” she whimpers and he can hear the plea that she has embedded in his name. He starts moving faster and her nails are scrabbling against the floor. Her eyes flicker and her mouth is open, trying to get enough air into her body that has so many more important things to do right now than breathe. He seeks out her clit and she cries out when he touches it, sounding like a startled bird but then she moans and drives her hips back against him and he plunges into her harder, and she cries out, “Fuck, Richard!” and then there wasn’t thinking involved anymore, just instinct.

His fingers circle her clit as he pounds into her and she is pushing back against him, trying to take him even deeper, and he can’t decide if her flushed panting face is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen or the steady thrusting of his cock into her tight pussy or if it is simply whatever he is looking at in the moment because she is calling his name and panting for breath and moving under him and she screams his name and clamps around him and her booted legs tighten around his calves and for a moment she is perfectly still and then her head arches back with a scream of almost the entire first syllable of his name and he lets himself go with her, those few last frantic pushes and he is coming with her.

They lay next to each other on the floor, letting the cold wood dissipate the heat of their bodies. He wraps a lock of straight hair around his finger. “This is different.”

"They were testing hair straighteners at work today and I got roped into being a test subject."

"I like it."

"I noticed." She chuckles. "What do you think, should I do it like this for the wedding?"

"Oh no." He gathers her into his arms. "This is nice, but it’s not my Layla. Fun for an evening, but not for a lifetime."


	6. One in the morning

Layla rolled on to her side and looked at Richard calmly sleeping next to her. She brushed back the hair that was falling across his forehead, biting her lip as she smiled. His hair had gotten steadily longer as they had been together, and as gorgeous as he was one day, he always seemed to be more stunning the next. Even in the almost dark of their bedroom, he took her breath away on a regular basis. Seven months ago she had never even met him, and here she was in his bed every night, the most loved woman on earth. It still seemed like a fairy tale. It made it difficult to sleep some nights when she could happily stare at him for hours. Unfortunately, it wasn’t his features keeping her up tonight. She was getting married in three months. She had the hotel booked, but nothing else was really done and she needed to start making decisions and soon.

“Richard,” she whispered, “are you sleeping?” She knew he was, but she didn’t want to poke him even though she desperately needed him to wake up. There was no change in the steady rise and fall of his back as he breathed. “Richard, are you sleeping?” she repeated louder.

His eyes didn’t open. “Are you bleeding?”

She pulled the blanket up to her chin as she stared at him stirring in his hibernation like a hungry bear. “No.”

“Do you want to have sex again?” His eyes still weren’t open, but at least he didn’t seem too grumpy.

“Maybe in a little bit?”

He grunted. “Is there an intruder in the house?”

“Mmmm, nope.”

“Then why are you waking me up in the middle of the night?”

“Because I had an idea!” She rubbed her hands together, practically vibrating from the energy of all the ideas coursing through her brain.

“This can’t wait until morning?” He had endured a very long and frustrating day hammering out the details of his next project, and she felt guilty about waking him, but she’d been staring at the ceiling for hours know and she could hear the marbles falling out of her ears.

“I might have forgotten it by then,” she whispered.

“And you couldn’t have written it down?”

“I don’t have a pen.”

Succumbing to the inevitable, he rolled over and scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands before reaching over to flip on the bedside lamp and then pulled himself up to sit against the headboard. “What’s your idea, darling?”

Layla sat up and crossed her legs as she faced him so one of her knees was against his hip and her toes wiggled against his thigh through his pyjama pants. “So, you know how we’re getting married?”

He pushed his hair back and yawned. Layla found herself distracted by the movement of his jaw and the way his growing beard emphasized its sharp angles. “Yes.”

“Alright, so our wedding is on New Year’s Eve so the reception isn’t just our wedding reception but it’s also a New Year’s Eve party, and do you know what both weddings and New Year’s Eve have in common?”

“They mark the beginning of something new and exciting.”

“Awwww.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “That’s really sweet, but no.” She shook her head. “Champagne!”

“Right.” He yawned again. “Champagne.”

“Yes, so I was thinking of using champagne as the theme for the wedding. Color scheme and everything, so champagne and gold for some sparkle and then pair it with black because black tie formal sexiness on you, and I was thinking for drinks at the reception we could have a champagne bar and all sorts of different champagne cocktails.”

Richard nodded. “That sounds nice, dear.”

“But!” she exclaimed.

His eyebrow rose tiredly. “There’s a but?”

“I remembered what you said about we could have it in a pub and just put the bar on your tab and you would be happy if our friends and family were there and I had a thought! Let’s do both!” She smacked him in the arm with the back of her hand.

“Both,” he repeated slowly. He tried to do the maths in his head but couldn’t figure out what he was adding together. “A champagne bar tab?”

“No, instead of having a fancy sit down dinner because boring, let’s decorate the reception space to look like a fancy cocktail lounge but like masculine and stuff, with big overstuffed leather couches and vintage velvet sofas and tufted ottomans and like poufs covered in feathers or glitter and lots of seating so people can wander around and talk and chat and dance and instead of feeding them all some boring steak or salmon or whatever, we do teeny versions of pub food. Like, little shot glasses filled with tomato soup with tiny wedges of grilled cheese sandwiches for dipping, or little slider sized hamburgers with kid sized mugs of ale, or eensy beensy tacos served with airplane sized bottles of tequila. Or they can make margaritas and pour it back into the tiny tequila bottles. And then after midnight we can switch to breakfast food and do toothpick skewers of little pancakes. And then–”

“Can we not have any more and thens?”

She slowly unfurled her index finger. “One last one. And then when they leave, for their wedding favor we can give them ceramic to-go coffee mugs, engraved with the date and the coffee stirrer would have a doughnut hole on it.”

There was a long pause. “Are you done now?”

She narrowed eyes flickered as she searched her brain. “Yes.”

He let his head fall back against the head board and closed his eyes. “First,” he held up a finger, “I don’t care what the caterers feed people after midnight because we won’t be there. Second, I like the cocktail lounge idea if it means I don’t have to sit at some head table and have people watch me all evening. Third, whatever else happens at this party, I get to dance with you. And finally, do you really think tiny tacos are fancy enough for your reception?”

She tched at him. “They’re teeny. Teeny food is _always_ fancy.”

“Alright then. If I may offer an opinion here?” His brows rose in question though his eyes were still closed.  She nodded and then realized he couldn’t see her so she said yes. “It doesn’t sound so much like you want bar food as much as you want food you think would be cute when it is small,” he yawned again before he continued, “and that matches alcohol.”

She tapped her finger against her bottom lip as she considered his words and started nodding her head slowly. “That may have influenced my decision making process.”

Richard sighed and then straightened up. He took one of her hands and laced his fingers with hers. “Why don’t we meet with a caterer? I think trying to feed people dinner with seventeen different cocktails and matching tiny foods may overwork the catering staff and put our guests in hospital with alcohol poisoning.”

“So maybe champagne bar and some more standard passed appetizers without the teensy bottles of booze?” she offered.

“That may make more sense. We could have a fully stocked bar as well if people don’t like champagne.”

Her nose crinkled. “How can you not like champagne? It’s the alcohol equivalent of having sex with you!”

One corner of Richard’s mouth quirked up. “Yes, well, not everyone has _had_ sex with me.”

“And I’d like to keep it that way.” She nodded emphatically. “And a dessert bar!”

Richard was lost by the sudden change in topic. “What?”

“Instead of just a cake, we should have an entire dessert buffet!” She threw her hands out to the side to emphasize the size of her imagined array of sweets and smacked her hand into the headboard. “Ow!” She cradled her tingling hand against her bosom until Richard rescued it and stroked it gently while he talked.

“An entire dessert buffet.”

“Yes, they’re all the rage now. What a better way to start the New Year than drunk and hopped up on sugar?”

His eyes drifted down over her body, clothed in nothing but a silk chemise. “How about naked and having sex with you?”

Layla wondered how she was still capable of blushing when he talked to her, but she felt her cheeks flare with heat. “Well, yes, that was part of my plan for _us._ I was thinking about everyone else.

“As long as there’s chocolate involved somehow, you go do whatever you want.”  He stifled a yawn and Layla again got sidetracked by the movement of the muscles in his jaw.

“You are coming with me to the baker’s to taste cakes, right?”

His eyes drifted shut. “Gladly, just let me know when.”

“Oh,” she bounced with the sudden exclamation, “how about a wine bar? We could have like six or seven wines, and get little plates that fit on top of the wine glasses and have an appetizer paired to each wine on the plate!”

Richard forced his eyes open again. This was something he knew about. “The wines wouldn’t breathe if there were plates on top of the glasses.”

“But it would be _cool_ looking.”

Richard laughed as she leaned into him and whispered ‘cool’ in his face excitedly. “But they wouldn’t taste as good.” He tapped her on her nose. “Why don’t we put the plates next to the wines?”

She sighed and slumped back. “I guess we could do that.”

“Do we really need a wine bar if we’re having a champagne bar and an open bar?”

“Probably not, but I mean, there’s not a lot about this that’s need. And I know you like wine and I thought you might like picking the wines.” She twisted her fingers together in her lap. “You could spend a day with a sommelier and talk about wine pairings and such and buy six or seven boxes…boxes? Crates? Casks? How much wine do you think we’ll need?”

His heart softened at her thoughtful inclusion of his preferences. “I have no idea. But I’m sure we can ask the caterer for amounts, and then I’ll go pick two whites and two reds to stock the bar.”

“Alright. That probably makes sense. We should pick a caterer soon.”

“Yes.” She didn’t say anything else and he thought that maybe she was done with this night’s brainstorming. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Yes.”

He was just about asleep when he heard, “Richard!”

He didn’t even bother to open his eyes. “Yes, dear?”

“How about a s’mores bar, with different flavored marshmallows and kinds of chocolate and things?”

“Layla, you want to get everyone drunk, hopped up on sugar, and then let them play with fire?”

He almost fell asleep before she answered. “Well, when you put it like _that_ it doesn’t sound like such a good idea.”

He opened his eyes, surprised by her muttered snarkiness. Her shoulders were slumped but not with tiredness. Her eyes were wide open, staring unseeing at her feet as she twisted one of her curls around her finger so tightly her fingertip was turning red. He had supposed that she was waking him up out of excitement, but he was realizing now that she was so stressed that she couldn’t sleep. “You’re all up in your head, aren’t you, sweetness?” He reached up and untangled her hair from her finger and kissed the tip of it.

She looked up at him through her lashes. She debated telling him she was fine, but she knew he would see right through it. “Yes.”

“Come here.” He tugged her against his chest. “We already have the site reserved. I’ll call my tailor tomorrow about setting up an appointment about a new tuxedo. Classic black tux should be acceptable, right?”

She nodded. “I’m thinking I’m going to get a separate dress for the reception – something with a bit more glam to it – if you want to change as well.”

His fingers travelled through her hair with long slow movements as she rested her head over his heart. “Then you are coming with me and choosing it.”

“I can do that. Izzy and I are dress shopping this weekend, so if you schedule for next week, I’ll know what I’m wearing to have an idea for you.”

“Alright. Then tomorrow morning, I am calling a wedding planner. There is no reason for you to be doing this all by yourself, especially on such a condensed time table while you’re working full time and I’ll be going into full publicity blitz mode. She’ll set up appointments with a baker and give us some ideas about caterers to recommend and I’ll spend tomorrow interviewing caterers so we can choose one.”

She tilted her head to look up at him. “You know how to interview a caterer?”

He pressed his chin against his chest so he could meet her eyes. “I’m pretty sure that if I type ‘how do I choose a caterer for my wedding’ into the internet, it will give me an answer.”

Layla giggled. “Probably. And I already know who I want for the cake; Mich Turner at Little Venice Cake Company.”

“Alright, then I’ll tell the wedding planner that.” He kissed her on her forehead. “Anything else running around in your brain right now?”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “No, I think that’s it.”

“Then I’m going to fuck you to sleep now, alright? Nothing like a good orgasm to get your brain to shut down for the night.”

She looked up at him again to see the smile on his face. The heat in his eyes made her blush just like she would burn if exposed to the sun.

“That sounds perfect.”

 


End file.
